Azkaban Prison Blues
by Nokomiss
Summary: Stan didn't like Azkaban one bit.


Azkaban Prison Blues

Summary: Stan didn't like Azkaban one bit.

Characters: Stan, Lucius/Narcissa

Rating: PG

AN: Thanks to Rainpuddle13 for the quick beta!

* * *

Stan didn't like Azkaban one bit.

His whole life, he'd heard that the prison was a terrible place. Atrocities happen at Azkaban, his mother had told him. Bad things that no one decent could ever even imagine happened there.

Stan had, as a child, tried to imagine what went on in the prison, because a young boy didn't want to be decent. A boy wanted to be wicked and shocking and irreverent, though Stan had never managed to do anything worse than stealing lollipops from Honeyduke's or once, on a wild teenage night, leaving the Three Broomsticks without paying for his Butterbeer.

But now that he was in Azkaban, he couldn't help but think that it sure sounded a lot more glamorous than it really was.

There weren't any Dementors swooping around to make him feel rotten, and the guards who walked past at intervals looked as bored as he was. Stan missed his job, which really was glamorous, since the Knight Bus traveled all sorts of places and he got to meet famous witches and wizards. He'd met everyone from Harry Potter to Celestina Warbeck on his bus, but he hadn't met anyone famous in Azkaban.

So Stan just sat on his cot, and wandered around his cell, and peeked out the barred window on his door to see if anything exciting was happening to anyone else.

The cell across from his was occupied by Lucius Malfoy. Stan had been a bit excited at first about that, because Lucius Malfoy was rich and well-known, and a Death Eater to boot, but so far he had done nothing notable.

Stan couldn't see a whole lot of Lucius Malfoy's cell through the small, barred opening in the door, but once or twice he had caught a glimpse of pale hair.

It was still a bit thrilling, though, knowing that a killer was in the cell across from his. That meant that they considered him somewhat of a threat by proxy, since they thought he was a Death Eater himself. Stan wasn't a Death Eater - he doubted that they'd have him. Even though he had a very important job and even though he was good at keeping secrets, no one gave him the respect he thought he should have. He had the feeling that if he had approached someone - he wasn't quite sure who a wizard spoke to about becoming a Death Eater - he would have been laughed at.

He had just settled down on his cot to count the stones on the far wall again (Years at Hogwarts had taught him that the number wouldn't always be the same) when he heard a feminine voice. He perked up. One of the disadvantages of being in Azkaban was that he no longer got to admire the pretty witches who took the Knight Bus. None of them had ever actually expressed any sort of interest in him, but he could still dream.

He stood and hurried to his cell door, peering through the rough metal bars to see who was allowed to enter the most restricted wing of Azkaban. They weren't shy about denying the accused Death Eaters basic rights, and visitation rights were usually the first to be denied. Stan certainly hadn't had any visitors of his own, not even his mother.

The blonde striding down the dreary corridor was vaguely familiar, and as they stopped in front of his cell he had a brief, brilliant moment of hope that she was there to visit him, to tell him that she had heard of his plight and thought it the most brave thing she had ever heard...

"Malfoy!" barked the guard, shattering Stan's hope into a thousand irreparable pieces. "Your wife's here to see you."

A long, silent moment passed. Stan pressed his forehead against the bars - if he stood just right on his tiptoes he could see a larger portion of the hallway. Twisted, grimy faces were watching from other cell doors, lining the hall with curious looks and envious glares.

Narcissa Malfoy ignored them all as she patiently watched her husband's cell door. A rustle of clothing and three strident footsteps echoed through the suddenly silent wing before Lucius Malfoy's face appeared, pale with dark shadows from the barred window slanting across his aristocratic features.

"Lucius," she said cooly.

"Narcissa," he replied, voice cracking slightly from disuse. Stan figured it was disuse, since Lucius Malfoy wouldn't get emotional over anyone, not even his wife.

"How are you?" she asked. Her voice was pitched low and made Stan's ears grow warm. He thought that he was probably the only other prisoner who could hear what she said.

"Wonderful," said Lucius dryly, though his features were twisted as he said it. Stan thought he looked as though it were paining him to speak. "How is Draco?"

"Filling your shoes admirably," Narcissa said, then paused awkwardly. "Though... I'm worried."

"About that? You should be," Lucius replied.

Narcissa nodded, her blonde hair rippling like water. "It doesn't feel right. He's too young."

"You mean they've accepted him fully," Lucius said, then glanced around, paranoid. His sharp grey eyes landed on Stan, then dismissed him.

"Draco is excited about his schoolwork," Narcissa said, her voice rising sharply on 'schoolwork.'

Lucius sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm responsible."

"Well, you did always encourage him to do everything his -- professors told him," Narcissa said acidly. "You lead by example."

"But they're punishing him for my mistakes," said Lucius coldly, quietly. He looked straight at Narcissa, sorrowful, and said, "None of this is worth anything if he isn't..."

"I know. God, I know," Narcissa said. Stan was confused at why they were getting so upset over their kid actually doing his schoolwork. His mother had always gotten mad at him for not doing schoolwork and not listening to his professors. That Malfoy kid was lucky if he was expected to disobey his elders.

The click of the guard's boots on the stone corridor echoed loudly.

"Take care of everything," Lucius said, reaching to grasp the bars, looking as though he would sacrifice whatever bit of soul he had left to touch his wife.

She carefully reached up and pressed her fingers against his, just as the guard reached them and harshly grabbed her wrist and wrenched her hand away. "I said no contact with the prisoner," he growled.

Stan could see that her pale, delicate wrist would bear bruises from the guard, but nothing but longing filled her eyes as she allowed herself to be lead away, mouthing something to her husband that Stan couldn't make out.

Lucius glared at him before disappearing from the cell door window, motioning him to keep quiet. Stan wasn't sure what he had heard that would threaten Lucius Malfoy, He Who Must Not Be Named's right hand man, but he couldn't deny the surge of importance that he felt as he settled back on his cot and began to count the stones on his wall.

Stan couldn't deny that he wished that someone loved him enough to brave visiting Azkaban and denying the guard's orders for, but for now he was content for having seen two very important people up close.


End file.
